The Riddle

Chapter 1:

Life is complicating. It's confusing and full or questions. But maybe that's the point.

Gotham was never a pretty place to live, not even in the best of times. Somehow, it beckoned to a criminal's soul, which meant that Gotham gathered the lowest most idiotic scum.

Gotham could have been an amazing city with the right help. It had the potential, but not the money. It was often wondered why, though, because Gotham also held some of the highest, richest, men in the world. They should have been a wealthy, top-notch city. But they weren't for one reason. That 99.9 of those rich billionaires only cared about themselves. And the .1 percent of those billionaires that actually cared about the city was Bruce Wayne, aka, Batman.

Batman stared at the computer screen, rubbed sleepiness from his eyes and stared back into its depths. It held secrets, he was sure. There had to be a pattern in the Riddler's recent robberies.

The Riddler wasn't a common thief. He was more then that. He was smart, and his madness usually had a method. Possibly the thing that made him most dangerous was the fact that he was smart, calculating, and usually thought things out before going through with them. There was a secret meaning in everything he did, never anything like the Joker's plans.

The map showed what he had robbed, and where it had been stolen from. So there had to be a method there some where, something out of the ordinary. Something carefully tucked away, yet obvious.

Or maybe the Batman was just over analyzing things.

They all had to do with time, so why couldn't he figure out why? A pocket watches chain, an antique clock, a beautiful gold pocket watch.

The map faded, turning into a black screen with carefully written words.

What words start with T, can be put together and still make sense?

Batman gets it a second after it's too late. Time Travel. But a ray has already picked him out of cave.

XxXxXx

Terry or Batman soared over the city, although it was unusually quiet.

Gotham in 2062 hadn't changed much from Gotham in 2012. Sure, there was more tech, maybe more security, but really, nothing had changed.

Gotham still called to a criminal's soul, despite the constant looming threat named Batman, who basked in its secretive depths just as they did.

The night was quiet, most of the major criminals holed up; making their plans about the many different ways they could kill their problem, Batman. But one criminal in those dark alleyways was the reason that Terry was searching obsessively.

The Riddler. A man who loved puzzles, basked in secrets, and tucked one into every single one of his plans. He was at least eighty now, no longer in his prime, but this time he didn't need to be. A teenager who had stumbled upon Bane's Venom was plenty of bulk for Edward Nigma.

"Terry," Bruce's voice snapped in Terry's ear, startling him out of his stare at the ground below.

Terry winced; this seemed to be the billionth time the old man had snapped in his ear with suggestions, scaring Terry.

"Yeah?"

"There's an unidentified energy signature in Crime Alley. Check it out."

Terry didn't bother answering, because there wasn't anything to say. Bruce wouldn't expect an answer anyway.

XxXxXx

Bruce rubbed his head, pulling his hand away sticky with blood. He must of smacked his head harder than he'd thought. He swore softly. He hated time travel, hated the Riddler, and hated the throbbing headache he had.

"I'll get you Nigma." He whispers, standing to his feet.

Although, Riddler, who was listening doubted it.